I’ve heard the stories of the man
Who has a healing touch
My suffering’s more than I can bear
I need His help so much
I’ve seen so many doctors, and
Giv’n all that I possess
Tried all the cures suggested and
Have had not one success

I find him midst a solid crowd
Their bodies like a wall
Strong, resilient, mighty men
And I – a woman small
They cannot see and cannot know
My weeping wound within
The Law speaks clearly, touching them
I taint, infect, with sin

If I can reach, can grasp his hem…
One touch will be enough.
I fear to ask, I cannot risk
A swift and sound rebuff
Determination gives me strength
I push my way ahead
Outstretched fingers brush and touch
A single woollen thread

My faith is proved, my wounds are healed
And wholeness surges through
What once was rent is mended now
And I am made anew
I stand, the crowd is unaware
This miracle is mine
The locust years of pain are gone
At last I’m feeling fine

But now He turns, “Who touched me then?”
His gaze is on my face
“There’s someone claimed a stir of power,
A taste of God’s good grace.”
I own my deed, my touch of faith
Confess my body sound
How fingers felt His garment’s hem
And wholeness then I found

He smiles, commends me for my faith
Declares that I am well
He gives me leave to share my joy
My story others tell
There is no wall, no barrier
That faith cannot pull down
No hope in a believer’s heart
That tests and trials can drown

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I got a particularly special treat out of your poem because I almost wrote about that Biblical account myself ;) In the end I went with a different idea, but you defiantly conveyed the message far better than I could have! Masterfully written, and I loved how well it fit the title! :)

The first verse felt like something I could have said. Then as I read on, I realized who the MC was. You made it so easy to see what she must have felt and known. The flow is perfect, it just rolls off my tongue.